Atonement
by Laora
Summary: And he realizes, now, that this is what the Elrics have yearned for all along. —- [An alternate ending for Penance.]
1. I

_If you haven't read Penance, parts of this may not make a ton of sense to you...but I guess the main thing to know is that Sirius, Ed, and Al are at the Gate, and nobody's going anywhere without paying some sort of price. That's where this diverges from the original~_

* * *

**I  
**

"But what could get all of us out alive?"

Sirius doesn't think he's been so terrified in _years_. This huge blank landscape, the sadistic grin on the creature—_Truth_—before him... He's faced down Lord Voldemort himself, spent twelve years in the Hell that is Azkaban prison...

But the only thing that compares to this is the moment when he realized that James and Lily were gone.

He's doing his best to keep up a calm facade, to not do anything stupid, because that's what Al said to do and he obviously knows more about this than he ever will...but he cannot see this ending well. Ed's voice from across the great whiteness is becoming increasingly desperate, offering everything—offering his _life—_just to get Sirius and Al out of here alive...

(That's not going to be enough for two people, and they all know it, but Sirius doesn't know what else to do.)

Truth is talking to him, but he can barely hear; Ed's voice is blocking out everything—yelling, screaming, _pleading_ with this "God" to spare the others. Sirius wants to tell him to stop, because clearly this isn't the answer; if they just ask what it wants—

But then Ed falls silent for a moment. Sirius strains his ears, terrified that something has happened to them, that they've delayed too long...but then he speaks again, and instead of desperation, there is a note of hope in his voice. "Magic bypasses equivalency—can you—just—take the magic out of Sirius? That's equivalent, right? _Right?"_

The Truth's grin, in front of Sirius, grows wider; the blank universe around them seems to pulse in reply. "That's not the answer I was looking for...but it will do, Mister Alchemist. So long as the wizard agrees."

"Yes," Sirius says immediately, barely thinking. Losing his magic—becoming a Muggle—that is so much better than any of them dying. After all, if he has been permanently separated from the magical world, what is the point in practicing it? "Take it—that'll send us all to Amestris in one piece, right?"

Truth does not reply; its grin only grows wider, the pulsing grows stronger, and the great stone doors before them open. The arms are reaching for Sirius, but instead of picking him up as Edward's boggart did, they only dig deep into his body.

The attack is sudden and unexpected; he only realizes that he is screaming after several seconds of undiluted agony. It feels as if he is being turned inside-out, as if someone is trying to extract his innards through a single pore of his skin—

The Elrics may be screaming as well; he cannot hear. All he knows is that, suddenly, the pain is gone, and blackness is all that remains.

.

.

.

.

The next thing he knows, he is lying on a patch of grass, staring up at a cloudless sky.

"Sirius? _Sirius! _Are you all right? You were screaming but you were in a different dimension of the Gate and we didn't know what was going on and—"

Al's terrified voice greets him as he turns his head, and the boy helps him sit up. (There is an alarming amount of blood covering him; deep gashes cut across his cheeks and arms...but he is disregarding them, and even if Sirius is worried, Alphonse will not give him time to ask.) "Do you feel all right? It was just supposed to take your magic, but—"

"I'm—I'm fine..." And he is, he thinks. He realizes suddenly that he feels a sort of emptiness within him, as if there is a hole that wasn't there before...but the strangeness is not painful. It is only an absence of something he's had all his life, and that is not indispensable.

_They are alive, and that's what matters._

Edward is sitting up a few feet away, staring at his right hand in something akin to awe. It is bony—_hopelessly_ bony and emaciated—but the fact that it is made of flesh and blood rather than battered steel..._  
_

"You're the _best,"_ Ed says, his face splitting into a wide, rare grin as he looks up toward Sirius, waving his hand around to emphasize. He opens his mouth again, as if to say more, but it seems that words have failed him; he only continues to smile, looking utterly elated as he starts to look around. Sirius doesn't recognize any part of the landscape—there is a huge building several hundred yards in front of them and several smaller ones on either side—but both Elrics' face are lighting up in something he can only read as joy.

(Sirius doesn't know where they are, but the Truth promised they'd be in Amestris...is this what it looks like? He's always thought alternate universes would be something truly bizarre, with orange skies and purple trees...but the Elrics look human—_are_ human—just like him...he supposes it makes sense that their worlds look the same.)

"Brother..." Al's eyes are growing impossibly wider as he takes in the people bustling around outside the buildings...and Sirius realizes, suddenly, exactly how important this is, that there are people here at all. That monster of a Homunculus—the one, unimaginably, who was even more terrifying than _Pride_—had been upon the brink of victory, might have possibly won the war...turned this country into a Philosopher's Stone. But there are people here; there are _lives_ happening all around them...and even if he does not know anything about this strange place, Sirius feels a surge of blinding, irrational relief, because this means that _they have truly won...__  
_

_These boys can finally be happy._

"Oi!"

A voice he does not recognize snaps him from his trance abruptly; he jumps to his feet and spins around, instinctively reaching for his wand before realizing that it will be useless. (He may not mind giving up his magic to save their lives, but he feels naked without it in the face of this unknown threat.) He can see a man running toward them; he is perhaps in his mid-twenties, wearing a deep blue uniform..._military._

The man continues to talk, but the language he is speaking is utterly foreign. He is looking at Sirius as he speaks—likely because he is the oldest of their little group—but he can't even begin to figure out how to reply—

_Amestrian. He's speaking Amestrian._

He can't help the wide grin that splits his face at this realization. He is by no means fluent, but he remembers enough to recognize the cadence. The number of times the Elrics lapsed into their native language, back in the summer...and more recently, when they were up to their eyes in research...

This young man is undoubtedly speaking Amestrian, which leaves him with no choice but to come to the obvious conclusion that _we've made it back._

Ed strides forward—heavily favoring his left leg (_Truth must have given that back as well)_—grinning from ear to ear and speaking with the man. He does not look convinced, is frowning deeply as Ed continues to talk, and the boy sighs resignedly before rummaging in his pocket. After a moment, he produces something on a long, silver chain._  
_

_A pocket watch._ What the hell is a kid doing with something old-fashioned like that?

Ed's never pulled it out, at least in Sirius' presence; he's never checked the time, never shown it off as part of his home world...and he has no idea what the implications of such a thing are. But the man seems taken aback by it; he stares hard at the boy before shifting his gaze to Al and Sirius. He's just wondering whether the guy is going to draw one of those—Muggle wands? He can't remember the name—to try and kill them...but then Ed says something else—rather forcefully—and the man sighs and nods, gesturing for them to follow him.

"Uh...what just happened?" he asks Al in an undertone as they walk toward the main building. (He's supporting the boy as he continues to bleed freely; Al insists that he's fine, but he's decidedly wobbly on his feet, and Sirius isn't willing to take any chances.) "Where are we going?"

"Oh! Right," Al says, grinning rather sheepishly up at him. "This is—Central Command, where Brother worked before we wound up in England? Civilians aren't supposed to be here, and he's not convinced by Brother's watch...but he still managed to pull rank, so the sergeant's escorting us to Mustang's office to make sure we're not fakes or anything." He almost shrugs, but then freezes as he seems to realize something. "But the colonel was...that means he's not...?"

He trails off, glancing toward his brother (he didn't hear them) before allowing an even wider smile to grow on his face. Sirius really only understands about half of the things Al implies with this statement, has no idea why the idea of Mustang is making him so happy, but he shrugs it off for the moment and simply continues walking. There is a time for questions and explanations, but now is not it...not when they've found themselves back in Amestris, exactly where the Elrics belong.

They weave through crowds of people wearing that same blue uniform—some are barking orders to subordinates; some are harried-looking secretaries answering things Remus once called _telephones_; only a few have time to spare a glance for the motley group making their way through their midst...and fewer still seem to recognize them.

(Sirius supposes that's a good thing—they won't get slowed down... But it strikes him as odd that people don't seem to recognize Al, that they only spare a passing glance—albeit a confused one—for Edward, in his bright red coat and blond ponytail.)

They make their way up several flights of stairs—Al insists that he's fine, but Ed keeps glancing back nervously and Sirius is supporting more and more of his weight—before the man stops before a large wooden door. He knocks crisply and yells something through it; a voice, deep and authoritative, calls something back, and the man opens the door.

He's blocking the entryway, speaking to whoever is inside, but that same male voice says something else—it sounds almost dismissive—and the sergeant sighs and steps out of the way, allowing them inside. There are about half a dozen people assembled there; a man a few years younger than Sirius, with dark hair and striking black eyes, stands in the center of the room, clearly sizing up the three of them.

But his eyes gloss over Sirius and Al and focus quickly on Ed; they widen marginally, and his mouth drops open a bit as he realizes who he's looking at. (Sirius supposes, if they've been gone for seven months...but why is he paying no attention to Al?) Nobody says anything, though; the other people at the desks are similarly silent, as if they're waiting for something to happen, waiting for the other shoe to drop...

But then Ed says something in a decidedly triumphant voice, a huge smirk plastered on his face, and all Hell breaks loose.

Everyone is on their feet before Sirius can even blink; their jaws drop and they take huge, bounding steps forward as if they can't get there fast enough. (It would be almost comical, if Sirius didn't know the gravity of such a reunion.) The dark-haired man is suddenly standing before Ed, staring straight into his eyes as if waiting for him to disappear...but Ed is just as solid as the rest of them, and after a moment, he only claps a hand on the boy's shoulder and smiles broadly.

Al laughs under his breath, and Ed grins, saying something in that same snarky tone that Sirius has not heard in months. (The stress of war, of protecting fifty million innocents from Pride, left no time for such frivolity. But now...) The others are crowded around Ed as well, and even if Sirius has no idea what they're saying, has no idea who they are...he can't help but feel an elation he hasn't felt in years...since he got Remus and Harry back.

_This is how it's supposed to be._

Ed looks younger than he ever has, in this moment; he's laughing raucously and talking loudly in the language he's known all his life. Because even if he speaks English fluently, could pass as a native speaker if he really tried...Sirius has always been able to tell that he hates the language. He hates what it represents and what speaking it means. It means he's not home; it means he's not with the people he loves...

But that's all been resolved now.

A tall, blond man nearest Sirius and Al glances over, sees the way Al is listening to the conversation and laughing heartily (but is decidedly woozy from blood loss and exhaustion) and asks something of Ed in a worried tone, gesturing to Alphonse. Both of their faces split into impossibly wider grins—Ed's seems wicked and dangerous, the way Sirius' was when James was still alive—and only stare around at them all, waiting for something to happen...

(What's going on?)

But then the blonde woman gasps loudly, her eyes filling with recognition and astonishment and joy, and she croaks a single word that Sirius has no trouble understanding—"_Alphonse?"_

Sirius does not know why their reaction to the boy's presence is so violent; he has no idea why they all look so shocked that he is here. But the blond man and another—a redhead—quickly pull Al from his grasp, leading him with bright eyes and excited tones to a vacated chair as another rushes to a telephone nearby. Sirius can only stand there, alone for a moment while Ed converses with the woman and grey-haired man, and wonders whether he should leave them to their reunion...

But then the dark-haired man steps in front of him, his eyes dark and narrow and mistrusting, and asks something of him in a tone that Sirius can't quite identify.

He has no idea how to answer; he doesn't know what the man wants, doesn't know what he'll do to him if he is silent...but how can he possibly reply? He can't even understand what is being asked of him...

But Ed glances over and sees what is happening; he pulls himself away from his companions and limps over, grinning at Sirius and punching his arm before saying something to the other man.

And whatever he says, it seems to be exactly what he needs to hear; the man's face instantly relaxes, and his eyes soften; he says something in a decidedly nicer tone. Sirius can only stare at him uncomprehendingly, though, glancing to Ed for help.

But he seems to be enjoying this immensely; Sirius realizes, a bit belatedly, that this must have been how he and Al felt when they arrived in England...with no knowledge of the language here, facing potentially dangerous people whom you know nothing about...

The man's brows are scrunched in confusion, staring at Sirius and clearly wondering why he is not replying. And since Ed doesn't seem about to step in, Sirius sighs, opens his mouth, and hopes he gets the message—"I don't speak Amestrian."

His eyebrows shoot up and he stares at Sirius uncomprehendingly until he glances over to Ed, who is still grinning like a loon. Finally, Ed seems to take pity on him _(obnoxious, immature kid_—but Sirius knows he'd be doing the exact same thing) and says something to the man..._hopefully_ relaying what Sirius can't make him understand.

His eyes widen in comprehension as he turns back to Sirius, clearly hiding his immense surprise. But he only nods, sticking out his hand and saying, "Roy Mustang."

It takes Sirius a moment to realize what he's saying, but when he does, he almost smacks himself for his stupidity. _Of course, this is how we started with Ed, too..._ So he shakes the proffered hand, grinning and replying, "Sirius Black."

_So this is the Mustang we heard so much about._ Whatever image his mind has conjured to describe the man...this is not it, because he is so very young_ (a high-ranking officer in a militaristic country who barely looks thirty)_, but his eyes hold a sort of old, terrible pain that Sirius has only seen in a few people.

_Dumbledore. Ed. Al._

He is so young and yet he looks impossibly old, and Sirius can't hope to understand this. But he supposes that it doesn't matter, now; he has a world to live in, a language to master, and people to meet—immediately if not sooner, if Al's cheerful calls from across the room mean anything. He is saying something to the people surrounding him, gesticulating wildly and grinning like a child, and the smile on the red-haired man's face looks genuine as he jogs over, grabbing Sirius' arm and pulling him toward the group.

He has no idea what they're saying, but the camaraderie is clear and undeniable as he's given a chair as well, patted on the back and shaken by the hand until he thinks he might bruise. Names are rattled off to him at lightning speed, and he can barely keep up, let alone decipher which words are introductions and which are excited chatter in the background, because the light in these people's eyes is so bright and so full of happiness that it seems to illuminate the room.

He realizes, all at once, that _this is where they truly belong._ Edward and Alphonse...they were friendly with people, back in England; they were helpful and kind and risked their lives for those they didn't even know...but they always seemed so out of place. And Sirius has never truly understood why...not until now.

The way Ed's eyes are crinkled in laughter as the blond man—Havoc? Or was it Falman—claps him on the back and says something loudly...the way Al is totally disregarding the blood on his face and body, smiling genuinely and laughing all the while as Breda—or maybe Fuery—ruffles his hair affectionately—

_This is home. _This is Amestris; this is _everything_ to those boys...and as Sirius watches the reunions continue with undiluted joy, he truly understands _why._

He will never be home again...not really. He'll never see Harry or Remus or Molly or Dumbledore ever again...and he knows that it will haunt him until the day he dies. _W__hat could he have done differently?_ and _H__ow could he still be at home with those he loves?... _But he also knows that this—_all _of this—is worth it, in the end. Because even if he isn't home, _these boys are,_ and he's not sure he's selfish enough to wish for his own happiness at the expense of the children who have already given so much.

The hole Remus and Harry left in his soul—so much larger and so much more painful than that left by his magic—will never heal...of that he is sure. But he can learn to live with it, remembering the years he's spent with those he loves and learning to make a new life in this strange new world.

_He's free._ _He's finally free._

Here, there is no price on his head for a crime he only wishes he committed; there is no Peter in whom he put so much trust and by whom his life was irreversibly shattered. There is no James, no Lily, no Harry or magic or anything even remotely familiar...

But he's a _Gryffindor,_ damnit, and even if such a thing does not exist in this world, that doesn't make him any less a member of the house that changed his life. He will persevere. He will carve out a new life for himself, learn to live as a Muggle...and maybe, if he's very, very lucky, he might even learn to be happy.

But what will happen to him does not matter right now. What matters is the group of people surrounding him, accepting him and joking with him like nobody has since his Hogwarts days. What matters are the two boys who never had the chance to be children, laughing and chattering away at such high speeds that Sirius isn't even sure the others can understand...

He is certain he's never seen them so happy. He's never seen Ed's grin quite that wide; he's never seen Al's eyes quite that bright...and he knows, now, that it is because they weren't truly happy in England. Just like he never will be here...

But even if he's been torn away from his home, they've finally found theirs...

And that, he thinks, is good enough for him.

.

.

.

.


	2. II

**II  
**

Soon enough, the Elrics are carted off to the nearby hospital, the rest of the team following close behind. Jean offered to hold down the fort (his legs aren't quite what they used to be, yet, and he's not up for any rushing around), and this new man—_Sirius,_ Al called him—has also been left behind.

Coming down from the whirlwind of excitement the Elrics' return had brought him isn't quick; he had been loath to think them dead, after all. Those boys are too damn stubborn to die; despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary, Jean had never stopped believing _(hoping) _that they were still out there, fighting to get home.

(But this is beyond even his wildest imaginings. _Home and whole once again._ Al has been returned to his body...Ed's limbs are made entirely of flesh and blood...)

(Even if their appearance was hardly one of returning heroes—for the blood quickly flowing from Al's wounds was alarming even to Jean's untrained eye—the fact that they're here at all...)

He's known that, even though Marcoh healed his spine and returned Mustang's eyesight, their office hasn't been whole since the Promised Day. Only now does everything feel right again.

But the boys have been whisked away, now, with gurneys and paramedics and IVs despite their assurances that they're _fine. _Jean has been left behind with a stranger with dark hair and piercing eyes; they're sitting in two of the abandoned chairs, saying nothing as the seconds drag on. Jean stretches his legs out before him and Sirius gently rubs his wrist, staring around the office curiously. It's not _awkward_, per se, but Jean just can't stand the quiet.

Well, it's not as if he's ever been a shy man.

"So...who are you, again?" he asks, breaking the silence at last and smiling genially over at his companion. He's never seen him before, but Ed and Al said they wouldn't be here without him; that's as good a reason as any to be friendly. "Where were Ed and Al all that time? Did you—?"

The man's head snapped up when he began speaking, but the look on his face is remarkably blank as Jean continues. He stops himself mid-sentence, raising an eyebrow as the man seems to struggle to reply. "Uh...Amestrian," Sirius says, and the word sounds not-quite-right on his tongue. He pauses again, then repeats himself, shaking his head emphatically. "Amestrian."

"What?" Yes, of course he's speaking Amestrian—he _is_ Amestrian—what the hell is the guy trying to say?

He bites his lip for a moment before sighing and shaking his head again. And when he reopens his mouth to speak, the words that come out are some that Jean has never heard before.

_Oh, damn it all to Hell. _The guy's a foreigner?

He supposes it makes sense; he's never seen anyone wear clothes like that. They look rather like a stylized, old-fashioned version of Ed's coat, with an outer layer that falls near the ground and several layers underneath that look vaguely like formal wear.

_What the hell..._

But hey—Jean never really paid attention in his social science classes, so for all he knows, that could be the style halfway around the world. So he shrugs it off quickly, flashing a grin at the clearly confused man before shrugging. "Okay then..."

But he realizes he has no idea how to proceed, how to carry on a conversation when the only common word between them is the name of the language itself. "Uh...okay." He nods decisively, more to himself than Sirius, then extends his hand, grinning encouragingly. "Havoc."

Sirius smiles back rather bemusedly, shaking the offered hand with a strong grip. "Sirius."

Jean nods, frowning momentarily as he tries to figure out how to proceed. But Sirius seems to decide for him—he gestures to Jean, then to himself, and says, "Amestrian Sirius?"

He's not the sharpest tack in the box, but Jean figures out what he's trying to say pretty easily—he wants to learn the language. Makes sense, he supposes, if Sirius is going to be staying here for any length of time. So he shrugs and nods, and Sirius' grin grows wider; he nods as well, clearly waiting for him to start.

But how the hell is he supposed to teach Sirius the language when he knows nothing of whatever tongue _he_ speaks? This is a task better suited to Roy or the Elrics; now that he thinks about it, he heard Al talking to him in that same, strange cadence he heard just moments ago. _They're_ the geniuses, not him; surely, Ed and Al know the language, and would actually be able to properly teach this man. But they're not here right now, and he and Sirius have nothing better to do. There's no harm in trying, right?

He ponders a moment more before catching Sirius' eye, making sure he has his attention before nodding, making sure the movement is exaggerated enough. "Yes."

Sirius mirrors the movement slowly, his eyes narrowing as he seems to mull this over. After a moment—"Yes...?"

The word is obviously strange in his mouth, foreign to his tongue, but it's passable enough for a first try. Jean nods encouragingly, and then shakes his head from side to side. "No."

_Seems intelligent enough, at least,_ he muses as Sirius mirrors the movement again and repeats the word. "Yes?" he offers, clearly questioning his correctness, and Jean shrugs and nods. He's got two words down, at least—two words of thousands, of an entire, complicated language to learn...which Jean is absolutely not qualified to teach him.

God, he needs a smoke.

He glances toward the door to make sure there aren't any higher-ups planning on barging in before pulling his pack from a pocket, lighting one up easily and taking a deep drag. He looks up when Sirius moves, and there's a small grin on the older man's face as he reaches his hand out in question.

Jean answers the grin easily and hands him one as well, sending the lighter along and watching the man curiously as he almost seems to reach for his pocket—but then sighs and flicks the lighter awkwardly, as if out of practice.

Hasn't smoked in a while, then. Well, something traumatizing like this definitely warrants a death stick. Jean won't rat him out.

They sit in companionable silence for several minutes before Sirius makes a questioning noise, pointing at the small cloud of smoke collecting around his head in the stagnant air. It takes Jean a moment to pull himself out of his vague, wandering thoughts, but he finally says—"Ah ...smoke." He breathes in on the cigarette and then out, gesturing to the action before saying, "Smoking."

Sirius nods, clearly filing this away before taking another drag himself, grinning almost conspiratorially over at Jean. He finds himself returning it easily, feeling a strange sort of friendship forming with this man. There's definitely something _off_ about him; Jean can see it in his eyes, the darkness that so often plagues the Ishval veterans. He can see, clear as day, that this man has been through Hell.

But that's not important right now; he only cares about the fact that a man he met not half an hour ago is quickly becoming his friend. The ghosts hiding behind his gaze are of no consequence...because here, sharing a smoke with a man with strange clothes and an even stranger language, Jean feels more relaxed than he has in what feels like forever.

_The Elrics are back._ They're back, and they've brought a new friend to boot. He can't help the wide grin spreading across his face as he stretches languidly in the chair. Finally, the world is spinning again. Everything is as it should be...

Yeah, he thinks they'll be all right.

.

.

.

.

By the time Heymans finally comes back to the office, Jean has taught Sirius a dozen or so words in Amestrian... And even though they can't exactly carry on a conversation, somehow they're still laughing heartily about something Sirius said in the language Jean doesn't understand. (Whatever it was, it sounded pretty damn hilarious.)

He likes this guy, he thinks. He likes him a lot.

Heymans only looks at the both of them as if they've sprouted another head, waiting bemusedly for them to calm down from their near-hysterics. "I thought he doesn't even speak Amestrian," he says finally, raising an eyebrow at Jean. "What the hell are you laughing about?"

This, of course, only sends Jean into another fit of laughter. "He doesn't," he's finally able to get out, trying (and failing miserably) to stifle his giggles. "Doesn't mean he's not funny as hell."

His friend only stares at Sirius for a moment before shaking his head and sighing. "Right, well. Ed and Al are going to be fine—" _obviously,_ Jean thinks—"but Al's lost a lot of blood and there's still bits of Ed's automail stuck in his shoulder and thigh, so they want to keep them for a few days."

Jean nods, glancing to Sirius' tense face when he realizes he probably didn't pick up any of that. "Uh—Ed and Al are good," he says slowly, giving him a thumbs-up for emphasis. Sirius nods, his face relaxing a bit. He jerks his head toward the door. _Can we see them?_

Probably wants to talk to someone he can actually understand, poor guy. Luckily, Heymans is nodding, already heading for the door. "I've got a car waiting outside—the others are still over at the hospital. Chief's already sick of their room, poor guy." He laughs, glancing over his shoulder to make sure they're following. "Some things don't change, huh?"

Jean laughs as well, shaking his head and standing up heavily, making sure he has his feet properly under him before making his way toward the door. He doesn't have any problems walking once he gets going, but his balance is still off after so many months confined to the wheelchair. "Well, they'll be going home soon anyway. His mechanic can take care of the metal, right? They won't stay longer than they have to..."

It's almost like a punch to the gut, to realize this... Now that they've achieved their goal, neither of the Elrics will want to stick around in the military. He's always known this; it's wavered at the back of his mind, at the edge of thought, but he's never paid it any attention. Of course, he's wanted them to return to their normal bodies. He would be a horrible person to wish them anything else. But now that it has come to pass, and he's faced with the realization that they're going to be leaving Central, probably for good...

They're his friends, and they've only just returned from everything but death. He wishes he could convince them to stay.

The car ride is spent in silence, though it isn't an awkward one. Sirius is staring around at the interior of the car, hadn't seemed to know to fasten his seatbelt until he saw Jean and Heymans do it themselves. There's a strange curiosity to his gaze, as if he's not used to riding in a car...which, Jean supposes, doesn't make sense. He doesn't give it much thought.

(Who is he, this foreign man who can't be past his thirties but whose eyes look so old?)

Soon enough, they're at the hospital, and Heymans is leading them up several flights of stairs. Sirius' eyes are wide as he takes in the hospital and its many inhabitants, but his face splits into a genuine grin when they arrive at the Elrics' room. He sweeps in without further ado, making a beeline for the boys' beds on the opposite side of the room, where Mustang and the others are congregated. Hawkeye half-rises, one hand going for her gun before she sees who they are.

When Jean arrives at the boys' bedsides, he sees Alphonse fast asleep, his mouth wide open as he snores lightly into his pillow. Ed, on the other hand, is sitting up, clearly irritated with the sling restricting his right arm, and arguing a mile a minute with Mustang, who seems to be torn between cuffing the boy about the ears and embracing him in a rib-crushing hug.

"C'mon, Mustang, we're fine—once we get Al pumped full of blood again—Winry can take care of my ports, we should be getting home—"

"We've just gotten you back, Fullmetal," he replies lightly, raising one eyebrow. "I know you think so little of us, but we tore apart half the country searching for you and your brother. It wouldn't kill you to stay for a while."

Ed flushes, his eyes flashing in pain for a moment _(he missed them too _but he'd never say it aloud) before shooting back—"You should've known we were all right. Seriously, you think we'd die because of something like that? We were _fine_—"

"Alphonse's destroyed armor claimed otherwise. And when you didn't return from the Gate, what were we supposed to think?"

This cuts Ed off abruptly, and his throat bobs as he swallows back whatever sharp retort he was prepared to give. And Jean knows—he _knows,_ because Ed's face has always been so easy to read—that whatever happened to them, it wasn't good. It was anything but easy, even if Alphonse has clearly had his body long enough to recover, and they've turned out all right in the end, and Sirius—whoever he is—has come home with them. He doesn't know who or how or where or why, but he knows enough.

(He has to remind himself that they're only children. Maybe it's good for them to get out of the military now, while they still can; he doesn't want to see any more ghosts haunting their too-old gazes.)

Ed doesn't seem to know how to respond, so he allows his eyes to wander toward Jean, Sirius, and Heymans, standing a few feet from the edge of his bed. His face lights up in some semblance of a smile as he catches Sirius' eye, and he says something quickly in the language only they seem to know. Even Roy—who Jean is fairly certain is supposed to know several languages since his encounter with that _Gate_—shows no recognition of what either of them is saying as Sirius responds. Maybe there's something more going on here... but Jean figures he probably shouldn't ask. Not now, at least.

Instead, he glances toward Alphonse, still sleeping like the dead. He is heavily bandaged, but it seems that—whatever attacked him—missed any vital organs, and he avoided any serious head injuries. Like Ed said, Jean decides, he'll be all right soon enough.

(It's strange, he realizes, as he watches the boy's chest rise and fall. He's never seen Alphonse before. Not really. Before today, he's never seen him sleep, never seen him eat, never even seen him _breathe_...and the sickening wrongness of such things twists unpleasantly in his gut, even if all has been resolved now.)

_(They deserve to go home.)_

"We won't wake him, will we?" Heymans asks from beside him, following Jean's line of sight and sending a worried glance toward Ed. "He needs to catch up on his strength, right?"

"Nah," Ed says, waving a hand dismissively and switching tongues as if it requires no effort at all. "He sleeps through anything. Waking him up's as hard as making Mustang do his paperwork."

Jean chuckles at the sheer _normalcy_ of such a comment, such a snippy, condescending remark from Ed that usually pulls an indignant rebuttal from Roy and a resigned sigh from Alphonse. But now, when their return is so fresh and overwhelming and _here,_ none of them have the heart to do anything but laugh raucously along with Ed.

(Jean's never seen a smile so wide and bright on the boy's face...not once in the four years he's known him.)

He's continuing his fast-paced conversation with Sirius, now, leaving the others to their own devices as he gesticulates wildly. Sirius, though suddenly subdued, is nodding his agreement, glancing over at Havoc and the others before saying something in reply. "Right," Ed says, suddenly understandable again as he turns to Mustang. "Well, once we _do_ head home, Sirius'll be coming with us until we figure out where he can go. We should probably call Teacher, too—" here, he shivers, and Jean winces in sympathy as he remembers all the horror stories he's heard of this woman over the years—"and let her know we're okay..."

"He's not going home?" Heymans asks in surprise, glancing toward Sirius with raised brows. "He's not from around here, right?"

"He can't," Ed says bluntly, though his fists clench and his eyes flicker away for the smallest of moments. "That's not possible anymore. He'll have to stay in Amestris."

There's _definitely_ a story behind this, but the way Ed's eyes flash in grief, the way Sirius' shoulders are slumped in loss...this isn't something he should bring up. Jean's mind is whirling with possibilities—it has something to do with alchemy, surely; it has something to do with their sudden and yet-unexplained return—but he doesn't know enough about anything to come to any sort of conclusion. Whatever it is...

It's brought the Elrics back, but with such joy comes the deep sadness in Sirius' and Ed's gazes. That's an equivalent exchange, right?

(Maybe that's why he can't understand alchemy—because he has to hope, sometimes, that there's another way. Surely, happiness doesn't always have to come at such a cost.)

The others have noticed these things too, and are quick to remedy it. Fuery reaches over to pat Ed on the shoulder, giving him a tentative smile (Ed returns it, and even if it's suddenly subdued, it's still Edward and it's still _family_); Riza stands suddenly from her chair, ushering Sirius to sit in it and stepping out of the room, saying something quietly about getting them coffee.

The rest of them sit in silence for several minutes; Sirius seems to be observing his hands (long-fingered and bony, as if he's been starved and never quite recovered), and Ed's brow is furrowed in thought as he stares somewhere past Roy's shoulder, worrying the inside of his cheek. No one dares to break it, to pull them out of whatever dark and wandering thoughts have accompanied them back home...but soon enough, Hawkeye is back, two cups of steaming coffee in her hands. Ed takes one immediately, a muttered "thanks" passing his lips as he drinks deeply; Sirius takes the cup willingly enough, but only stares curiously into it for a moment before shrugging and taking a sip.

The look on his face is absolutely priceless as he clearly _just_ stops himself from spitting it back out all over Ed's sheets.

This breaks the silence quite spectacularly, and Ed's face splits into a grin as the others laugh. Sirius apparently makes an aborted attempt to swallow the coffee, because next thing any of them know, he's coughing, leaning forward as his face turns an interesting shade of red. Jean pounds him on the back amicably until his airway clears, and everyone laughs even harder as Sirius immediately passes the coffee off to Jean, grinning and shaking his head through his embarrassment.

(Who the hell's never had coffee before? Jean rolls his eyes and downs half the cup in one go, despairing of foreign cultures and people who have never known such a wonderful drink.)

.

.

.

.

Alphonse wakes up a little later, bleary-eyed but cheerful; before long, Ed has manhandled the rest of them into wheeling them out to the phone down the hallway. He wanted to walk, but Roy assured him in no uncertain terms that the doctors would have all of their heads if he tried to put weight on his newly-restored leg before the residual port was removed. Ed harrumphs loudly and makes quite a show of flopping himself into the wheelchair, but he doesn't protest as Sirius takes hold of the handles and follows Jean and Al out into the hall.

As soon as he's within reach, Ed grabs hold of the phone and spins his finger around the dial quickly—even after all this time, apparently, he knows the Curtises' number by heart. The ringing is easy for all of them to hear through the earpiece, and Al leans forward as it continues for several seconds before someone finally picks up.

"Curtis Meats—Izumi speaking."

Both Elrics' face splits into huge, relieved grins; even though everyone promised them that she survived the battle, Jean's sure that hearing her voice is much more reassuring. It takes Ed a moment to compose himself enough to reply, and after several seconds, Izumi tries again, "Hello?"

Ed swallows thickly, licking his lips and gripping the phone tighter before choking out, "Hey, Teacher."

Silence. Then, "Who is this?"

Ed flinches, and Jean can understand why; her voice is low and dangerous, and though he's never personally met Mrs. Curtis, he knows enough about women to know when they're seconds away from screaming at you. Even Sirius takes a tentative step back, staring at the receiver apprehensively though he can't understand a word of what they're saying.

(Ed pulls the phone several inches from his ear before he replies, which is probably a very good idea.)

"It's—it's me," he says, laughing a little hysterically. "Ed. And Al's here too. We're back, we found our way back, we're fine and—"

She cuts him off with something Jean can't quite pick up from this distance...something he would label a screech if he didn't know better. There's some yelling—not toward Ed, but to someone on her end of the line, and after several seconds, Mrs. Curtis turns her attention back to the phone.

"I'll skin you, boy—do you have any idea—you've been missing for _months_—"

Sirius' eyes are wide as she goes on and on; Ed's holding the phone at arm's length, now, as Mrs. Curtis continues yelling...and she doesn't seem about to stop. "Um, Teacher?" Al tries tentatively, speaking loudly in the direction of the phone in the hope of quieting her. "We really did try to come back earlier, but—some stuff happened, we couldn't, we didn't know how—"

"What do you mean, _you didn't know how? _You idiot boys—" But then she cuts herself off, silent for a moment before gasping, "_Alphonse?"_

And Jean realizes why after only a moment—his voice sounds the same as it always has...but when he was in the armor, it held a distinct metallic edge that was hard to miss. But now—even over the phone line, Jean's sure—his voice sounds different...and exactly as it should_._

"Yeah," Al says with a wide smile, and it's clear in his voice he knows what Mrs. Curtis is talking about. "Brother's limbs, too."

She's quiet for a moment, only deep, calming breaths coming through the receiver as faint static. Then—"Where are you? Central? Resembool?"

"Central," Ed says immediately, "but we were gonna go home soon, once we've caught up with everyone and—"

"We'll be there tomorrow," she cuts him off, her voice loud and _daring_ them to contradict her. "Make sure your asshole of a commanding officer has someone there to pick us up from the station."

"Um—Teacher—"

"I'll see you then," she says, as if she hadn't heard him. Ed's jaw snaps shut audibly, clearly not daring to risk crossing her in such a state. "I want to know exactly _what the hell_ happened to you—you'd better have an explanation, young man..."

"Yes, ma'am," Ed says (his meek expression would be comical if Jean wasn't just as terrified) and he pauses, holding the phone awkwardly between the two of them, as if not sure whether he's supposed to hang up.

"Oh—Ed, Al," she says, and Jean can't quite read her tone of voice. Both boys snap to attention, though, staring a little apprehensively at the phone before Ed dares to answer.

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're back."

(And if there's a strange—almost motherly—softness to her voice with these words, Jean can't find it in him to blame her. After all, watching the Elrics' shoulders relax, he knows she's feeling that same overwhelming relief that had so recently engulfed him and the others. She's just gotten her family back, whole and safe...)

It's as if the Elrics' return has righted the world again, fixed it back to its proper axis...

And he's sure, now, that everything will be all right.


End file.
